


Tattoo

by Tenukii



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Friends to Enemies, Kylo Ren Redemption, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Redeemed Ben Solo, Revised Version, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15368010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenukii/pseuds/Tenukii
Summary: Poe was never going to tell Ben about the tattoo.





	Tattoo

“Did you seriously get a tattoo?”  Ben’s voice dripped with disdain, and Poe cringed.  He tapped BB-8, who was resting on the floor beside Poe’s chair, smartly on the top of his dome.

“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” Poe grumbled to the droid.  BB-8 spun his dome around to look up at Poe, and he gave a hurt trill.  Poe rolled his eyes.  “Obviously he _can_ understand you, buddy.  You have to be more careful.”

“I can’t understand _everything_ he says, but I understood ‘your’ and ‘tattoo,’” Ben put in, this time in that tone of voice he used when he felt like Poe was overlooking him in favor of the droid.  Poe kind of liked that, because it meant Ben wanted his attention.  Of course, Ben tended to want _everyone’s_ attention, but at least he wasn’t ignoring Poe.

Ben had done that at first, when he’d finally turned on the First Order and joined the Resistance instead.  For a long time, he acted as if he _was_ the Resistance, like he could run the whole thing solo (pun intended), and he scorned Poe, Rey, and anyone else who tried tell him otherwise.  But then Ben’s mother decided he’d had enough time to integrate on his own terms, and General Organa began forcing him to interact with the rest of the Resistance force. . . starting with Poe.

After that, Poe figured out that Ben had been avoiding him out of guilt over what had happened between them.  Ben warmed up to him once Poe had assured him (several times over) that he’d been forgiven.  Not _wholly_ forgiven, perhaps, but Poe kept that part to himself.  The Resistance needed Ben too much for Poe to let a grudge cause friction between them.

Not that there wasn’t still friction.  After all, the two had always bickered, even when they were just kids before Ben ran away to train with Snoke, and Ben had always found something to complain about.  Case in point, just now he had been complaining that they were stuck waiting in General Organa’s private conference room for her to show up for a briefing _she_ had called.  When Poe pointed out that Ben should be used to briefings and meetings and bureaucracy considering where he’d been for the past few years, Ben had gone back to ignoring him again, and Poe had turned away and started chatting with BB-8 instead.

Then BB-8 asked if Ben knew about Poe’s tattoo, which, of course, he didn’t.  Why BB-8 had even thought about the tattoo right then, Poe had no idea.  Sometimes Poe had an idea the little droid simply liked causing mischief.  But then BB-8 would turn that big shiny vision sensor up at Poe, all endearing innocence, and Poe would forgive him whether he had embarrassed Poe on purpose or not.

Still, the tattoo thing was really, _really_ embarrassing.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Ben announced.  “Did you really get a tattoo?”

“If he understands you so well,” Poe said to BB-8 with his face still turned away from Ben, “you can tell him that I’m not speaking to him.”  BB-8 gave a questioning beep, twisted his dome to look at Ben, then looked back at Poe again.

“Poe.”  Ben prodded Poe’s shoulder with what felt like one finger.  “Did.  You.  Get.  A. Tattoo.”

And Poe smiled.  He couldn’t help it.  That was so Ben, so the _old_ Ben—the staccato words spoken in that deep voice, punctuated with pokes of that long, pointy finger.  Poe knew that when he finally looked up at Ben, the expression on the larger man’s face would be completely serious, which only made his smile grow.  When Poe finally got his mouth straightened out, he swiveled his chair to the right to face Ben.

Sure enough, Ben’s face was serious.  Poe looked at the flat line of his mouth, where his full lips were pressed together, then up to Ben’s deep brown eyes and the sunken trench of the scar that ran through his right brow and cheek.

Once upon a time, Poe and Ben would have stared at each other, and then Ben would have laughed.  His dark eyes would have sparkled, and his lips would have curved into a smile whose awkwardness had always charmed Poe.  Now Ben did not smile, and that hurt.  It hurt more than seeing the scar hurt.  Poe looked away again, down at the table.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I got a tattoo.”

“Of what?”

BB-8 whirred.

“Quiet,” said Poe, and he thumped the droid on the dome a second time.

“Poe.  What is your tattoo of?” Ben persisted.

“Nothing,” Poe grumbled.  “Nothing that would mean anything to you.”

Ben observed, in the know-it-all way that had driven Poe crazy when they were younger, “You’re embarrassed.  What—did you get drunk and have some girl’s name put on you?”

Poe’s cheeks flared with heat, because it was close enough to the truth.

“No,” he said.  He looked up at Ben sideways, through his eyelashes.  He was trying to glare, but the look in Ben’s eyes stopped him.  Poe couldn’t have named what emotion that look signified, exactly, but it was sort of hurt. . . and sort of concerned.  Poe’s own eyes softened to see it.  He knew they did, and he knew that was showing weakness, but he just couldn’t help it.

“No,” Poe said again, “but it’s nothing.  It’s not important.”  He wanted to look away and couldn’t, and BB-8 was being strangely quiet.  Why was he so quiet?  Poe would have welcomed an interruption just then, anything to save him from drowning in those hurt, concerned brown eyes.

“Can I see it?” Ben asked.  That shook Poe out of his reverie, and he scowled.

“What?  No!”  He finally forced his eyes off of Ben, and he leaned back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest.

Ben demanded, “Why not?  It _is_ something embarrassing isn’t it?”  When Poe bit his lip and did not reply, Ben went on in an affronted tone, “Wait, _where_ is it?  Is it some _where_ embarrassing?”

Poe snapped, “Ben, that’s none of your business!”  He unfolded his arms and gripped the edge of the table so hard, his knuckles whitened.

“You—you got some girl’s name tattooed on your ass, didn’t you?”  Ben said it the way he’d say, “It’s terminal, isn’t it?”

BB-8 finally spoke up again, but only to give a trilling chirp of laughter.  Poe groaned and dropped his head in his hands.  He clenched his fingers in his hair for a second, then let go and leaned back into his chair with a sigh.

“If I show you, will you drop it?” he growled at Ben through his gritted teeth.  _I’ll show him quick, so he can’t get a good look,_ Poe reasoned.  _Just enough for him to leave me alone about it._

Ben hesitated, as if considering the offer; then he agreed, “Fine.”

Poe lifted his head and stared down at his lap as he tugged the hem of his shirt free of his waistband.  The tattoo was over his right hipbone, not really anywhere too risqué.  Still, he didn’t want General Organa to walk in while he was pulling his pants down for her son, even a few inches.

“Ready?” Poe muttered.  “You gotta look quick.”  He didn’t wait for Ben to answer before he grabbed the waistband of his pants and pulled it down just enough on the right side to show Ben the squiggles of black ink standing out in stark contrast to the golden-tan tone of Poe’s skin.

Poe announced to Ben, “There.  See?  No name, and not on my ass.  I hope you’re satisfied.”  He let go of his pants, but before he could tuck his shirt back in, Ben pushed his hands aside.  Poe gave an affronted gasp of, “Do you _mind?_ ” as Ben tugged his waistband back down for a second look at the tattoo.

Horrified, Poe tried to pull away, but he only succeeded in widening the gap between his pants and his skin, which gave Ben an even clearer view.  Poe froze when Ben extended one finger and traced it over some of the angled characters inked into his skin, the ones forming the top half of the tattoo.

“Those are your initials, aren’t they?” Ben murmured.  Poe broke out in goosebumps as he felt Ben’s fingertip spelling his initials on his skin.  Then the finger dropped lower to the bony prominence of Poe’s iliac crest.  There Ben traced the letters making up the bottom half of the tattoo, the half that had hurt more going on because it was over the bone.

“And these,” Ben whispered, “are mine.”

His fingertip rested in the middle of the tattoo for a second, where the bottom and top edges of the two sets of initials intertwined; then he drew his hand back.  Poe swallowed around the painful lump that had risen in his throat and shoved his shirt hem back inside his pants without raising his eyes.  He turned his face away so Ben wouldn’t see his rapid blinking, but that left him looking down at BB-8 instead.  The little droid gave a soft, apologetic whir.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Poe mumbled, and he reached down to pat BB-8’s round side.

After a moment, Ben asked quietly, “When, Poe?  After I left?”

Poe considered ignoring him, but BB-8 whirred again, and Poe figured that if he didn’t answer, the droid probably would.

“No.”  He shook his head, still with his face turned away.  “After I returned from my mission—to Jakku.”

“Poe,” Ben whispered.  His deep voice sounded thick, almost husky, but Poe still didn’t look at him, even when Ben said more urgently, “ _Poe_.”

Ben might have insisted that Poe respond, if General Organa hadn’t come in at just that moment with C-3PO toddling after her.  Normally, Poe didn’t have a lot of patience for Threepio, even though BB-8 admired him immensely.  This time, however, Poe was very glad to see him.  Ben might have pursued the matter of the tattoo even in front of his mother, but not with Threepio there.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” General Organa grumbled as she sat down across from Poe and Ben.  “Everyone wants me to be in a thousand places at once.”  She lifted her eyes to Poe’s face and apparently saw something there, because she then cast a questioning look at her son.  “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” both men muttered at the same time.  Poe glanced at Ben and found piercing dark eyes looking back.

 _Is he going to let it go?_ Poe wondered.

Ben turned back to his mother; then Poe did as well.  General Organa frowned and sat forward in her chair with a stern look Poe had seen a thousand times and, he wagered, Ben had seen far more than that.  But before the stern look—which conveyed something of princess, general, and mother all at once—could break down either young man, Threepio piped up in his prim, clipped voice, “If I may, perhaps we should begin?  We won’t get anything accomplished sitting here in silence, you know.”

General Organa turned the stern look, now tinged with irritation, at the protocol droid, but then she echoed his sentiments in a sigh.

“You’re right about that, Threepio.  Silence never accomplished anything.  Let’s get started.”

Poe was fortunate in that General Organa wanted to speak to her son in private after their briefing.  Poe escaped further questioning about the tattoo by accompanying the droids out of the conference room while Ben and his mother stayed behind.  Threepio was chattering on about something or other as they walked (or, in BB-8’s case, rolled) away, but Poe tuned him out.  Instead, he heard Ben’s voice over and over in his head: _Those’re your initials, aren’t they?  And these are mine._

Poe didn’t know why he’d gotten the tattoo.  He _had_ been drunk, a little, but he probably wouldn’t have known why even sober.  Yet lying awake at night, when he’d traced the letters with his fingertips like Ben had done just now, Poe had felt like some small part of Ben was still with him.  Not the part that had been Kylo Ren, the part that had violated Poe’s thoughts and broken his heart—but the part that had been Ben Solo first, the part that had seemed so serious until it dissolved into sparkling dark eyes and laughter.

 _And now he’s come back to me,_ Poe thought, _maybe._   There was some hope of that in the touch of Ben’s finger on Poe’s skin, the look in his eyes and the tremor of his whisper.  Poe’s steps slowed until he trailed behind the two droids, and he pressed his hand against his hipbone.

Ahead of him, BB-8 turned his dome and looked back at Poe.  When he saw his master so far behind him, the little droid interrupted Threepio’s blather with a soft, questioning trill.

“Coming, buddy!” Poe called with a smile, and he sped up his walk.  Still, beneath his clothing, Poe’s tattoo burned with the memory and the hope of Ben’s touch.

\--

The End


End file.
